


How to try (and fail) to get rid of your Incubus in 10 days (The Reworked Edition)

by Neutralchaos



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Demons, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Family Member Death, Incubus Brock, M/M, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Porn, Supernatural Elements, and other assorted creatures, because spoilers, demon hunter for hire! Jack, in which case you know what's going to happen, unless you read the first version
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-06-27 23:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15695511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neutralchaos/pseuds/Neutralchaos
Summary: Jack is a disillusioned demon hunter, trying to move on from a painful incident in his past. But while hunting down a gluttonous Bajang he runs into a snarky (clingy) incubus that follows him home.  Now he’s being glared at by murderous one-armed cat and trying to keep Brock out of his pants. But there’s something that just isn’t adding up about it all. Like how Brock keepsgetting through his carefully crafted wards and why he just doesn’t take his cat and fuck off already.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [How to try (and fail) to get rid of your Incubus in 10 days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8031466) by [Neutralchaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neutralchaos/pseuds/Neutralchaos). 



> Hey everyone! I'm back! and the first part of this rewrite is finally ready to go. I make no promises for speedy updates but rest assured, I will be updating... eventually.
> 
> In the meantime, May I interest you in some tissues? becaue uhhhh.... I'm sorry?

 There are many things in little Jack's life that he regrets. Not telling his mom he loved her before she died should be on there, but as he stands next to his Kuia at the funeral, he can't bring himself to care. He nods when people say their empty condolences, _she was such a good woman, I'm sorry for your loss_ … No, she wasn't a good woman, he thinks scornfully. The way Jack can count his ribs if he lifts up his shirt is proof of that. The way she would look at him and spit curses at his face while he tried not to let tears run down his cheeks, because he went to his grandmother's home after school. He keeps his face carefully neutral, eyes down, hair falling into his eyes, as he watches his sister be ushered out by their Aunt. He didn’t even know that their Father had a sister before she materialized out of seemingly nowhere to gather his little sister ( _Just Jilly_ , she sneered, looking down her nose at Jack as Jilly sobbed into his shirt.) but he was happy that she had a chance at something better than Jack.  

So no, Jack indeed isn't sorry that she’s gone. His Kuia has put herself right by his side, even if she should be sitting down, resting her feet instead of standing up here next to him. He won’t tell her as much (again, his head still hurts from the smack she gave him when he first suggested it) because he’s selfish. The small comfort of her squeezing his arm whenever it looks like he might actually say something, a little warning to not speak ill of those that have passed, is all that’s keeping him from wrecking this like he destroys everything else. He knows why he shouldn’t say anything, he’s been chastised about it already, to do so will call demons and evil spirits to himself ( _Too late_ , he scoffs internally) but it’s more because he genuinely loves the small woman next to him. So he stays silent. Let the people around him think it's because of grief. He can dance on the grave later.

 

Living with his Kuia full-time is a bit of an adjustment. For one, his clothes start to fit him better until they get too tight and he’s taken for new ones. For another, she’s superstitious in a way that most aren't anymore. There’s salt scattered along the door frames and windows, iron of all sorts in all of the rooms. It took Jack a month to even see where something has been carved into the panels of the house outside. When He asked about them, his Kuia patted his cheek and told him it kept the spirits out.  

 

She takes him to get his first sigils a few weeks after that. He assumes that she means a necklace, or maybe a bracelet. He’s not expecting the _tak tak_ of the needle going into the skin as the man sitting on the chair whimpers and moans while the tiny woman hunched over his bicep with the board huffs in annoyance. Jack’s smug and confident that he’s stronger than that until he’s the one sitting there and she starts by placing the needle right over the left side of his chest. Right above his heart. Why does he need this? He asks as he tries not to whimper when he feels the sharp prick of pain. _Real men don’t cry. Real men never show that it hurts_. His Kuia comes to sit beside him, places her small hand in his and explains her voice carrying the familiar rasp of too many cigarettes, that he needs protection, though from what exactly she never tells him. She’s always been vague about it, telling him that something dark lurked in the corners near him, that there was a shadow hovering over him and, well... by the time he was a teenager, he stopped asking. It just stopped being that important, so he just nodded his head whenever she told him to be careful, to stay away from rivers and not to stare into the flames of the lantern in the kitchen. He continued to go to the tohunga-tā-moko with her range of uhi to get his entire chest and arms filled with more and more spirals swooping elegantly across his skin. Not to mention it made him look so much cooler and meaner than he was.

 

When the last one was finally finished, completing the circle from his breast to shoulder, His Kuia took him aside after school every day and shoved different books at him. Instructing him to fill his head with the knowledge contained in them. Page after page of various mythologies and legends filled his head every afternoon while his classmates would complain about finishing their homework. His weekends seemed to consist of him being shoved into the dirt over and over again by some uncle he had never met, or being told to hit the same sad little tree repeatedly. All while his Kuia looked on, encouraging him to get back up when he thought he couldn’t possibly and patching the multitude of scrapes he may have received that day, in the evenings.

 

Later, when he had read all the books when he finally managed to start to do some of the knocking down, she would tell him about the demons that followed them, that lurked around their family. She showed him the markings on his mother’s skin where they had burned her when she was younger, where they wormed under her skin because she thought her mother crazy. How she wouldn’t let his Kuia help. He listened to the pain in her voice and felt the heaviness of her heart.

 

She pulled the heavy curtain in the den aside and displayed his family’s history for him to see, and as he looked at it with wonder, she’d weave stories about his father, telling him what no one else did. He’d listen and practice his protection wards on heavy paper.

 

One day, as he walked down the path home from school, he heard the shouting. He saw the line of people rushing water from the river, and his heart filled dread. _No,_ he thought. _NO!_

 

He ran the rest of the way home and stumbled as he saw his tiny home in flames, so tall they blocked out the sun. He felt his heart tear into thousands of pieces as he looked around for his Kuia, desperately seeking out her tiny figure. Hoping that maybe, just maybe she was hidden behind someone.

 

It took 4 firefighters to hold him down when he figured out his Kuia was still inside, pinning him to the very ground where she had stood hours earlier and patted his cheek, telling him to be safe _‘You’re getting too tall. Stop growing so much’_. He doesn’t bother to hide his tears, she needs him, he has too…

 

 _There!_ He can barely make it out. And if he didn’t know what he looking at he wouldn’t have seen it. But there it was, blending into flames themselves, small and wavering in the doorway stood a shadow. The same one that was always cast from the lantern in the kitchen. Beckoning him to come in. It’s stupid, he knows it is. He can hear his Kuia yelling into his ear, can almost feel her yanking his ear, telling he should let the firefighters do their job, but he can’t stop himself. He’s wiggled himself free and is charging in before he’s aware of what he’s doing. The flames are hotter than anything he’s ever felt before, and smoke invades his lungs, but she’s in here. He can reach her, just a little more…

 

He doesn’t remember being knocked down or being dragged out of the house by a frustrated firefighter. He can’t remember the long ambulance ride into town or the hours of surgery. He’s grateful for that. Jack hates needing painkillers every time he fucking blinks, he really dislikes the condescending tone the doctors use when talking about him. More than anything though, he hates how he’s never left alone, so he can curl up and grieve. So he can pour his tears into the pillow and mourn for the one person in his life that made sense.

 

Months later, He can finally move on his own again. He’s grateful that he’s now old enough that social services writes him off. He tries to get in touch with his sister, to let her know that he’s okay. That she can come live with him, once he has a place. Jack wants to think he’s surprised when his calls go unanswered but he’s never been very good at lying to himself.

 

So he takes the little cash he has on hand and leaves. There’s nothing for him here, not anymore.

  
  



	2. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack has good (bad) luck and a terrible tripping condition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm.. *looks at when I last updated* sorry?

Waking up always sucks. Waking up in a shitty motel room with a red light flashing in your face, and a bedspring trying dig a hole into your back, is not the shittiest he’s ever woken up, but it’s kind of up there. Especially when his mind seems to have latched on dreaming about both the best and worst part of his life. At least he woke up before the last part there this time. _Thank fuck for small miracles_ he thinks sitting up, wincing a bit at the way his bones seem to pop with every movement. Honestly, it’s one of the best nights of sleep he’s had since leaving home and isn't that just sad. Although it could be the exhaustion from getting into said bed only a few hours before. He debates hopping in the shower to help himself wake up but the mould patch that’s creeping up the sides of the tiny shower stall seems to have expanded since this morning. So he settles for splashing some water on his face and combing his hair back. _Getting a little overgrown there, Jack._ he thinks to himself as he heads out in search of some drinkable coffee.

The downside of getting a shitty Motel room in a shitty part of a shitty city is that there is nothing open at buttfuck o’clock and if something is, they’re not letting Jack in. Not with his seemingly permanent scowl, torn clothing and scar on his face. He can't blame people for being wary of him. So no coffee for Jack tonight it seemed. _It’s Fine, this is fine. Who needs coffee anyways? Overrated bean juice_. He thinks bitterly at the closed shutters of the coffee shop the bored night attendant pointed him too. He just trying to do this fucking job, is coffee too much to ask? Of course, a job is… a loose term. Yes, he is getting paid for spending the last week hunting down a really greedy Bajang but it’s not like he can file fucking taxes for it. Occupation: Demon Hunter. Income: Varies from job to job and whether or not Jack’s fucking bleeding heart will accept payment. He is for this one though.

This vamp has slipped away from him every fucking night this week, taking off just before Jack gets to wherever he’s drained whatever poor schmuck that came across it. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, but when the thing your hunting shifts into a fucking cat, it gets pretty annoying. Seeing as that it could be masquerading as one of any of the thousand strays he’s seen so far or any of the many, many other supernatural creatures walking around in their people skins. He really hates New York. Hopefully, the lead he's chasing tonight gets him somewhere because otherwise, he's saying fuck it and going home. He doesn't even like the asshole that's paying him. He's too… Jack isn't sure but there's something off there. But cash is cash and while he normally won't demand any payment, it's nice to be able to fill his pantry up. The pitiful savings he brought with him when he moved from ho- _Not home. Not anymore_ \- is pretty much gone, and demon hunting has gotten a little more pricey over the years. Especially since most of his tools are considered “antiques” and increasingly hard to find. Not to mention how many demons seem to hide in plain sight. They’re fucking everywhere. Your seemingly asshole racist neighbour that managed to ruin every single neighbourhood event that anyone has ever organized? He’s an imp. They’re just assholes and love stirring up shit. That politician that seems to think that the 1800s were a great time with all the slavery and disease? That’s a demon that wants to watch the world burn. Also, very hard to get rid of quietly and Jack really does not want to see the inside of a prison cell in this country ever again. So sorry, you’re stuck with that bag of dicks for a bit longer. Honestly, the most surprising thing about it all was how quickly he leaped back into doing this dirty work. Jack had thought that he would be able to settle in and maybe relax in the old house he had bought for himself. He’s not complaining, really. Except he is. He hates travelling, he hates having to navigate big cities especially. The scowl on his face gets deeper, as an especially cold breeze works its way under his leather jacket. He’s really hoping that he finds this little bloodsucker soon. Tonight soon would really fucking nice. He misses sleeping in his own bed. He can see the sun starting to hit the buildings now, _fuck_ he knows that he’s not finding anything now. Not unless he gets a really fucking huge lead as to where the Vamp had holed up to sleep the day away. And Jack knows that he isn't going to get that lucky, so he shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his worn down jeans and heads back to his shitty hotel room to wait for some leads.

Jack can't believe his luck. no really. he cannot believe it. Shortly after returning back to his room and his cheap ass phone rang with a lead. Turns out that a goblin runs a shitty apartment building not too far from him, had rented out one of his places to some real shady types but hey, they paid on time. Jack really doesn't care if he's being honest, one doesn't get this far doing what he does by caring how nicely people follow the law. But the thing he does care about is that they're all apparently decomposing with neat little fang marks in their necks and really fucking up the floorboards.

The address he’s given is an old three-floor walkup, with narrow little hallways and a tiny staircase. The goblin he’s meeting there introduces himself as Zola and wrings his hands as he climbs the stairs in front of Jack, babbling away nervously as if he’s still concerned Jack is there is drive off his entire income source. Jack is nodding along and letting the chatter wash over him when they reach the second-floor landing and the door opens abruptly almost knocking Zola into Jack. 

“Whoops. Sorry ‘bout that” comes the gravelly apology as the smell of… Axe? Assaults jack’s sense of smell and all he manages to see before whoever almost knocked him down the stairs brushes past them, is dark hair styled high and a pair of, _wow, those are tight pants._

The first thing that hits Jack when the reach the floor the apartment is on is, the smell, his eyes water and he can feel the bile rising up in his throat. How the fuck did no one notice it before, he thinks pulling his jacket over his face. It only gets worse the closer to the door and by the time Zola jams the key into the door, Jack is starting to reconsider his life choices. He barely hears the slumlord scurry away as he moved further into the apartment. Jack’s no expert but a few of corpses look much fresher than others. Which means that the fuzzy fiend has been using this shit-hole as a base of sorts. It makes sense if Jack is being honest. In this neighbourhood no one is going to ask questions or call the police for _anything_. He feels himself start to gag and pulls his jacket over his nose as he makes his way further into the small space. He’s so preoccupied with the bodies, that he almost misses the shadow dart from the cupboard and towards the open door. Almost. He sees it from the corner of his eye (His good one thank fuck. Otherwise he would have missed it entirely) 

“Shit!” He yells as he bursts into action, leaping for the door to close it and trap the slippery fucker in. Tripping over an arm, he slams into the door frame shoulder first before he gets his feet under him and turns to face the room again, only to see that it’s just him, a pile of bodies and the sounds of claws skittering along the poorly tiled floor that lined the hallway behind him. Taking a deep breath and resisting the urge to kick the nearest corpse, he launches himself down the hall, cursing under his breath as he sees a tail disappear down the stairs. He doesn't even bother with the stairs themselves choosing to leap down to the first landing in an effort to close the distance. He’s so close, he can almost reach the little fucker’s tail… _Got Him!_ Jack crows to himself in victory as he closes his hand around… nothing and Jack is barreling towards an overfilled wastebasket by the front door in the lobby area, while the Bajang jumps up to the open window and squeezes through the bars out into the street. Picking himself up and shaking off the small mountain of flyers and things that he’d rather not think of, Jack wrenches open the door and stalks out onto the sidewalk. Really, he should thank the Bajang right before he drives the stake through its heart that it chose to hole up in a shit neighbourhood because it means that the street is empty and he can spot the asshole booking it down the pavement and turning into the nearest alley. _Fucking hell_ , Jack thinks as he jogs down the street after it,--Something about hating jogging here??-- _I swear if it’s a connector alley I’m going to…_ He breathes out a sigh when he sees it’s all blocked off and a dark furry creature pacing in front of the bricks, relieved that he doesn’t have to start tracking it down again. 

“Nowhere to run,” he states as he stalks into the narrow opening, pulling out a stake from the inner pocket of his jacket. The Bajang stops pacing and turns its full attention on to him. It’s blue-grey eyes narrowing as it’s gaze darts between Jack, the stake in his hand and the alley entrance way. 

Jack can see the moment it decides to try to run through him and fuck that. He’s tired, covered in gunk he’s really trying not to think on too hard on, and starting to think that he should’ve asked for more cash before taking this job. So he keeps eye contact with the fuzzy man-eater, shrugs his jacket off his shoulders and dives forward as he sees a dark grey butt start to wiggle. 

A few things happen all at once; The smell of garbage hits his nose. His knees connect with the pavement and he can feel the gravel digging into the skin. His fingers brush against matted fur trying to fly past. Without letting himself think too much, he lets his fingers get tangled and yanks. Hard. Pulling it towards himself and… landing head first into a pile of garbage bags that someone left piled right beside the damn dumpster. 

“Fuck my life” comes the growl as he goes about hauling himself up on one arm, trying to ignore the stinging sensation of sharp claws raking down his other arm. “Would you stop that?” He says giving his arm a good shake, “this is all your damn fault.” The bite he receives in response comes as a surprise and it’s only through the knowledge, if he tosses this pain the ass (arm) he’s going to have to run after it again, so he holds on. 

“Do you know, all the shit I’ve had to go through to find you? I haven’t slept in my own damn bed for weeks now and as soon I-” he pins the Bajang against the side of a stained wall and grips the stake in his hands a little tighter,”-put this in you, I get paid and go home. Would you stop squirming!” Why didn’t he bring another stake? This is a two stake situation. Not really but he’s annoyed and he’s gotta get this done fast before the little monster remembers it has a much bigger form it can change into. So he presses it down a little harder and draws his hand back and..-

“What the fuck are you doing!?” He hears almost right beside his ear before his wrist is grabbed and he’s flung... right back into the pile of bags he just exited.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can now find me on twitter as @neutralchaos1!

**Author's Note:**

> Kuia- Grandmother  
> tohunga-tā-moko - A tattooist  
> uhi- chisels


End file.
